AN: So this is an AU inspired by a short KidCon comic we saw online. Conan is a crossdressing recon agent (probably around age 15 or so) and Kid is a member of his rival organization (age 25). Every fandom needs mafia AU's. Yes. :)

Warnings: cross-dressing!Conan, language, sexual themes, underage

RATINGS WILL CHANGE NEXT CHAPTER: (look forward to) interrogation with knife, with sex, and bribery

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There's a little lady quite the center of attention in the hotel bar tonight.

"Oh, poo, I'm out of alcohol." She waves at the bartender with a lilting giggle. "Another one please?"

She's slim and petite in her lacy backless dress dipping down to her waist, with a face Kid recognizes the moment he sees her.

Him.

Kid frowns into his wine glass, throwing a half-glance at the growing stack of empty shot glasses around Edogawa.

What the hell is tantei-kun doing here?

Edogawa's quite wasted for the night, his pretty ponytailed head lolling a touch too close to the men around him, balding and beer-bellied beneath the sleek Esquire suits.

"She's hot." Ito leans forward, hiding a smile behind his glass. "Interested?"

Kid shifts from the sill of his chair and looks at the low-cut dress. "Maybe."

There's roaring laughter at the bar table, and a balding man drifts his calloused fingers a little far into the space between Edogawa's collar bones.

And tantei-kun just laughs on his stool with a slight shimmer of sparkling earrings.

"I'd tell you to go buy her a drink but," says Ito with a shrug, "she looks quite done in, if she thinks molestation is funny."

"Hmph," Kid snorts, knuckles turning white around the neck of his wine glass.

Edogawa Conan, code name Agent Kirsche.

Red Org's deadliest reconnaissance agent— Kid lovingly nicknamed tantei-kun— with eyes everywhere and a kick like a mother. You don't touch him where he doesn't like and get away unscathed.

When he's sober, that is.

He's a rather—friendly drunk, Kid is learning.

Another man leans into Conan's neck, knobby fingers trailing down, past the lace collar, along the curve of his breasts and down his waist, hips, and stopping short at the slit of fabric on his thigh—

Kid slams his glass onto the table.

Conan slaps away the hand with a quirk of his cherry glossed lips, and takes another swig from his glass. Another bastard tugs at tantei-kun's wrist, whispering things into his ears and coaxing him off his stool.

A shot of anger shoots down Kid's spine when Conan just laughs, again— no kick, or punch, or a splat of drink against the man's face—and lets himself be pulled to his feet.

God damn it.

Kid shoves his chair back with a thud, heavy on the soles of his feet. That's quite enough for a show. He leaves his drink on the table.

"I'll be right back."

The wine sloshes in the glass.

.

.

The men are quite sad to let Edogawa go, and that's too bad.

It's disgusting—tantei-kun is not even half their age.

"Is this another mission of yours?" Kid mutters, mouth dry, and tugs his jacket sleeve off. "Or are you trying to get groped?"

Edogawa looks up, eyes fixed somewhere behind Kid's shoulders, and then back at him.

"Hi, Kid," he hums, just to his side, and presses his nose into Kid's dress shirt. "You look nice today."

There's a hot breath against Kid's chest, and Kid shifts on the soles of his shoes.

"You're kidding me," he says, pulling tantei-kun away by the shoulder. "What are you doing here?"

Conan blinks up at him, thumbing the seam of Kid's white vest with manicured fingers. (Fingernails painted a hot raspberry pink—)

"Oh. Are you on a mission?" He sounds disappointed, a downcast tension lingering at the corner of his lips. "I was just having fun."

Kid sucks in a breath, conscious of the fingers ghosting along his stomach and the milk thigh pressed soft and delicate against his knee.

Shit.

He likes it and he doesn't at once, because— has tantei-kun been doing this to every man he saw in the bar?

"I'm on a break with a friend." Kid says, voice edgy, and pulls Conan closer, winding the jacket sleeves around the curve of Conan's neck.

The music thrums in a rhythmic beat around them.

"And that's twice I saved your ass, tantei-kun." Kid says with a half-smirk hovering above Conan's ear. "I'm keeping count."

He expects a glare, a shove, anything—but there's silence after that, as Conan considers his stiletto heels and the shined floor beneath them; as Kid (subtly) watches the rise and fall of Conan's chest and the soft freckles showing where his dress meets his shoulders.

"It's frustrating," Conan tells him suddenly, fingers brushing against Kid's jacket pooled around him, "how fast you get used to wearing these things, you know?"

"Oh?" Kid can hear the rustle of tight fabric—shhhh—and lets his eyes wander, for a split second, to the soft satin stretched around Conan's hips.

"And I was just—" Conan trails off, and twists around Kid's elbows to breathe damp spots into his dress shirt. "—looking for someone who can appreciate it."

Suddenly, there's a finger tracing the leather on his belt, and Kid's mind sputters to a halt when it dips low to skirt along the seam of his zipper.

Oh, fuck.

(Edogawa is so wasted—vulnerable, he thinks, and wants to kick himself. Once in a lifetime opportunity.)

"You're making it hard for me to be a gentleman, tantei-kun," Kid breathes with a half-grin, leaning into the curve of Conan's shoulders, fingers scraping against the clasp of a sterling silver necklace.

Conan laughs into his wrist. "Gentleman? You?"

"Well—" Kid thinks to be offended, but then again— "Yes, all right, you got me."

He cracks a smile and looks down at Conan's glossy lips and wants to tease them apart with his tongue and his fingers and—

"Room 1412. How predictable."

Conan holds up a card between his index and middle, and taps it against Kid's nose with a low purr.

"Well, yes, I do like some consistency in my life," Kid whispers, and plucks the card out of Conan's fingers with his pulse running bullets in his veins.

Hell, when did Edogawa snatch that?

Either he's let his guard down too much— but that's not possible. That, or Edogawa's reflexes are as sharp as ever, even drunk out of his mind.

Drunk, but not vulnerable. You can't take advantage of someone like Agent Kirsche.

—is what he tells himself as he cradles Conan's wrist. "Care for a visit?"

"Hm, maybe," Conan leans in with a hum, eyes half-lidded, and drags his fingers along the edge of Kid's tie. "Care to show me the way?"

"Of course," Kid grins.

(In his head, he's ushering Edogawa out of there and hailing a cab for him to head home and holing up in his hotel room, hot and bothered but clean.)

Ito gives him a thumbs up from their table, and Kid pretends he doesn't see.

.

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Kid barely closes the door behind him when Conan crumples against him, cheeks red and breath hot, fingers fumbling down the buttons on his dress shirt.

(His jacket tumbles to the floor, forgotten.)

"Kid, I—" Conan breathes, brows meeting in the middle. "I feel hot."

"Do you now?" Kid grins, pulling him up by his chin. He leans down to slip his tongue between Conan's lips, hand trailing along the bare spine and lower.

Conan gasps and goes limp, breath hot and raw.

"Wait, wait, I need—" He lets out a whine from the back of his throat, and Kid swallows the sound and backs Conan up against the wall to trace the low cut of the dress with his fingers.

"Red Org should find less a revealing dress for you," says Kid, frowning against the dimple on the left corner of Conan's mouth.

"What I need," Conan says, breathy and flushed red, "is a drink. I'm thirsty."

He pushes against Kid's chest, as if he expects Kid to let go, just like that.

"Ah, ah, ah," Kid hums, low against the space between Conan's frown and his jaw. "Gotta ask nicely. How about a please?"

Conan glares for the first time that night, and Kid shivers under dark flannel slacks. "You're a terrible host."

"My room, my rules," says Kid with a shrug, and digs his fingers against Conan's hips. "Now let's hear what you have to say."

Conan goes still, for a moment, before he leans into Kid's shoulders with a breathy sigh.

"Please, Kid?"

Kid's lips crack into a half-smirk. "There we go."

Conan glares.

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"How's the taste?"

"Fresh." Conan crosses his legs on the armchair, lips lingering on the rim of the tall glass.

Kid leans in with a smirk, chasing the satin seam below Conan's shoulder blades with a finger. "Happy now?"

"Mhm." Conan takes another sip and pulls him close enough to share the same air between their noses.

Kid's breathing turns red and raw as his long fingers make quick work down the zipper at the back of his dress.

"Tantei-kun," he says, low and flutey, thinking of wet mouth and pale skin turning red against the dark lace—

And there are lips on him all of a sudden, soft and smelling of sweet wine, and Kid finds himself melting against the shy tongue tracing the roof of his mouth, and then—

A warm stream of liquid slides down the back of his throat, and Kid almost chokes on his breath.

"Good night," Conan says, wiping Kid's brows with cold fingers, and Kid's world fades to black.

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AN: We hope you've enjoyed the first segment to this two-shot piece! If you like it, please tell us so we know to continue it! :)

-Yoyoboyo Inc.